


The Adventures of Professor Ascot - Drabbles

by Mikearoni



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: (mostly Randall i tagged the others out of courtesy rip), Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Professor Ascot!AU, no one really dies though!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2017-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-23 09:19:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12504108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mikearoni/pseuds/Mikearoni
Summary: A short collection of mini-drabbles, all based on a Professor Layton roleswap!AU in which Randall Ascot is the main character. Additionally, Angela & Claire and Henry & Desmond (and/or Descole) have also traded places.





	The Adventures of Professor Ascot - Drabbles

It was a quiet sunday afternoon. Dim streaks of fading sunlight were trickling in through the windows. The professor had no lectures or meetings today, and was spending the evening in the quiet, contemplative silence of his office. The dust was taking this opportunity to settle onto the scattered artifacts and scrawled notes that littered the little office. Not even the coffee mug, sitting haphazardly near the edge of the desk, was spared by those devious lint particles.

The professor didn’t notice though, as he was currently taking a power nap.

Saturdays are spent studying whatever it is he’s buried in at the time for hours on end, so it’s usually sunday morning when he’s ready to throw in the towel. Sure this time it’s a little late in the day, even for him, but it’s not as if he has anything to do. He can lay on the couch all he wants.

The mess of red hair on the professor’s head needed some desperate combing, but that’s alright. He can just get up early on monday. Maybe that’ll give him enough time to find his glasses too. They fell down to who-knows-where while he dozed off. Let’s hope he’s gotten good at finding things over the years.

Randall Ascot, professor of archaeology, was doing rather well at Gressenheller University.

And lucky for him, his apprentice knew exactly where to find him on sunday afternoons. The doorknob rattled to life and in stumbled an excited Luke Triton. “Professor!”

\- - - - -

“A scarf!”

She had to stop herself from laughing. “--No, Randall, it’s an ascot!”

“An asc--” It took a moment before it clicked in his head. “...Ohh, oh my god, Angela, you didn’t.”

Her smile only widened. “For the newly appointed Professor Ascot.”

“...Thank you, Angie,” he said, unable to hide his giddy smile.

“I know it’s not your usual sort of accessory, but it really suits you. And I’m not just saying that.”

“I love it,” he admitted as he carefully tied it around his collar. “And _I’m_ not just saying that _either_. Now I really do look the part, huh?”

“You couldn’t look more perfect.”

Randall jokingly pouted. “So I wasn’t perfect before?”

“Nope.” Angela crossed her arms. “That’s just how the universe is.”

“But Dahl’s Law of Perfection is still a theory!”

“Wrong again, I’ve proven it just now.”

“Right, and what is it you’ve proven exactly?”

“Ascots make everything better.” Soon all that remained of the silly debate was laughter.

\- - - - -

After what happened a few months ago, the professor thought he had seen it all. St. Mystere was proving that very, very wrong. He thought someone was murdered over an inheritance dispute, but no: someone just _malfunctioned_ because evidently the entire town was actually robots aside from an angry scientist named Paulo, a lonely orphan, and a shady but thoughtful mechanic.

Are robots better or worse than golems? ...He’ll have to think about it as soon as this golden apple business is through.

On the other side of the fancy room, a quiet girl was waiting for them; the very same one who had tried to follow them around town. She wasn’t very good at disguises. Finally, all the pieces were falling into place. He knew _exactly_ what was going on here. After a moment of thought, Professor Ascot smiled and stepped forward.

“So, you’re the golden apple. Very nice to finally meet you!”

Luke, who hadn’t put two and two together yet, looked shocked. “You mean she’s--? Did you know this whole time?”

“I had a theory. And it was a good theory! Did I get it?” he prompted, looking back at the resident orphan. She nodded.

“My name is Flora. I’ve.. been waiting here for a long time.”

“Your dad set this whole thing up to find someone to be your guardian then? All of those robots and puzzles, quite a test that is.”

“Mhm. He said I should wait here until someone could solve everything, but-”

“You wanted to see if we could do it, so you tailed us?” The professor shrugged. “Well, I don’t blame you. I would’ve done the same thing. I can’t imagine robots make very good company all the time.”

\- - - - -

“And that person is _you!_ ” Taking full advantage of the crowd waiting with baited breath, the professor pointed at Doland Noble.

“--What?” Luke was the first to react. Initially he was a little mad--he trusted the Professor’s judgment, but Doland had worked with his family for years; he wouldn’t dare hurt Misthallery or its people--and yet, Randall Ascot hasn’t guessed wrong since he got here…

“..I’m sorry, Mister Ascot,” Doland started. “There must have been some mistake. I-”

“No, don’t start all that, I know what you’re going to say. See now, the problem is simply this: Luke predicted the specter’s appearance based on shallow water levels, thanks to a very helpful and convenient informant, but didn’t always guess correctly. Your relay of these warnings, on the other hand, was perfect. That’s a little odd, isn’t it, _Doland?_ ”

The accused didn’t offer a response, but the murmurs from the crowd was more than enough to set the atmosphere. The professor grinned in satisfaction.  
Now all he had to do was see if his last theory was correct...

“It’s easy to manipulate someone if you get as close as possible, isn’t that right? I’m sure your little setup was a walk in the park after you kidnapped Brenda Triton, threatened Clark into complying, and hired a corrupt investigator to further your plans to locate the Golden Garden.” The bold claim drew a lot of gasps from the onlookers, and Ascot could only hope Emmy would be back soon…

“Professor!”

He let out a sigh of relief; right on schedule! His assistant quickly arrived at the scene, as ready to help as ever. “Just as you said, Mrs. Triton and the real Doland were held captive in the cellar! I freed them of course, and took them to safety.” She had pictures too, in case anyone dared challenge her integrity. What a great assistant.  
The gathered crowd was growing louder, much to the professor’s delight. Who knew all solving a mystery took was a little puzzle solving and fancy guessing?

“Well--” Ascot straightened his glasses-- “I’d say that settles it. How about it, Doland?”

After a ridiculously suspenseful pause, the imposter took off his glasses and hummed. “Congratulations; it seems I’ve underestimated you, Randall Ascot.”  
Before anyone was fast enough to react, the disguise fell. Where a butler had been standing moments before was now a masked figure in a suit. “But don’t think I’ll allow you the satisfaction of winning, professor.”

\- - - - -

“ _Hershel!_ ”

Randall made a mad grab for his friend’s arm just as the ground fell out beneath him. Of course something like this had to happen. He had felt invincible up until now. Your confidence just dwindles away when your upper body strength is the only thing standing between your best friend and certain death, doesn’t it?

It all felt so unreal, trying to hold onto the friend dangling above a terrifying drop.

“..Ra-Randall, I--”

“Shut up! Give me your other hand!”

“..The mask, I’ll--”

“I don’t _care!_ Let--” both gasped as the stone platform shifted, sending more rubble down into the abyss-- “Hershel, let me pull you up!”

“...Take it.”

“What!?”

“The mask, you wanted it, it--it meant so much to--”

“Don’t talk like that!”

“--it’s yours, this--this is all yours--”

“Hershel, no!”

“--don’t le--” Hershel Layton’s grip faltered, and he winced-- “don’t--don’t let me hold you back, I--”

“Stop it!”

“I’m sorry, Randall--e-everyone, Claire, Desmond--”

“I--I can’t hold on forever, Hershel! I can pull you back up if you _give me your bloody hand!_ ”

“--take the mask, you--please, go do what you’ve always wanted to, Randall--”

“I _can’t_ , just--!”

Before the mask or anything else could be offered, Randall lost his grip. Numb with shock, he stared as his best friend was consumed by the darkness below them.

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been forming in my head for a bit, so I decided to test the waters with this AU -- If I can ever figure out how to write proper mystery stories, a full fic may be headed your way !


End file.
